


~*When Santa Isn't Real...*~

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tentative steps echoed along the never-ending corridors of stark, surgical white… Inside his chest beat a sad, yet tremulous, tattoo of hope; maybe this time, maybe this year. Maybe. Or Maybe not. How long could this go on? Forever? Years upon years without end, without relief, without anything but his fragile need to believe everything would turn out all right, spurring him onwards."</p><p>Once a Year, Neville journeys to the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungos in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, this year will be the one when recognition sparks in the dull eyes of his parents...</p>
            </blockquote>





	~*When Santa Isn't Real...*~

Tentative steps echoed along the never-ending corridors of stark, surgical white… Inside his chest beat a sad, yet tremulous, tattoo of hope; maybe this time, maybe this year. Maybe. Or Maybe not. How long could this go on? Forever? Years upon years without end, without relief, without anything but his fragile need to believe everything would turn out all right, spurring him onwards.

Silly little clumps of Mistletoe decked out the halls in sparse, rather pathetic attempts at bringing a cheery Christmas air to the oppressing place; his hand came up instinctually to chest height and trailed the fingers across the engraved sign, as they always had when he came here. Only, this time, he needn’t stand on tippy-toes to reach the letters… ‘Janus Thickey Ward’

The name alternately welcomed and thwarted him; it beckoned with the hopeful promise of change and then…crushed it. He knew it was just a sign, but on occasion he would glare at it with such loathing in his eyes… sometimes he almost imagined a sadistic entity just perching out of sight in these corridors, like an invisible Dementor, sucking out all that was good inside.

Sweaty palms clenched, and he giggled nervously at the irony; in the past few months he’d organised and led a revolution against the Death Eaters in Hogwarts, stood up to Voldemort and killed Nagini…and this was the stumbling block. This here was what frightened him the most. He steeled himself with a deep, fortifying breath and let it out slowly, building up the walls about his heart but leaving the tiniest chink so his hope could shine through.

The door slid open without a sound and an elderly medi-wizard with greying hair toddled over to meet him, her outfit snug on an over-stuffed, though jovial, frame. “Oh, there you are dearie, good to see you at such a cheerful time… They’re right over there and all fed up, dearie. My how you’ve grown!” She pinched his cheek to accentuate her point, and beamed sadly at the acknowledgement of how long it had been since-…well, it had happened and dwelling on the past only brought pain and suffering.

The woman left her death-grip on his cheek go, patted it kindly and waddled off, leaving him alone with…them.  He sucked in a trembling breath, “Hey, it’s…it’s me mam, and dad.” His voice was low, though enough to echo around the room like a gunshot in the ringing silence… Alice and Frank Longbottom simply stared into space, eyes vacant of all emotion or sentience, and he felt the final wall slam shut in his heart. The ray of hope, as always, extinguished…

The invisible presence he always felt here, the Dementor his childhood fears had conjured, stood beside him now in his mind’s eye and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly as it sucked out his emotions; hope, love, even anticipation were drained away as silvery tears of despair slid down his cheeks. The sparsely decorated shabby excuse for a Christmas tree mocked him with all of it’s three-foot high self, from across the room; loose baubles had been fixed o with tape so no one could hurt themselves.  Still, his parents did not look at him, did not acknowledge him…

Shaking hands wiped at the tears in his eyes.

A sniffle was the only remaining sign of his heartbreak as he turned away, one last regretful look over his shoulder at the people he loved most in the world and started to leave… By the time he got to the doorway, he found he could not look back without breaking; and so, kept walking with back straight and chin high to deny the pain inside. All he had ever wanted for Christmas was his parents back…

All that remained of his visit was an innocuous little box wrapped in navy blue paper and tied off with an ornate red ribbon; it sat silently on the table, a beacon of hope destroyed…and then… Alice reached for it with a gnarled hand, something close to recognition in her eyes and her son’s name on her lips…

 

“ _Neville…_ ”

* * *

 

_Maybe Santa was real after all…_

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a random little story I wrote for the Page in, I think it was 2011?  
> We had a huge Christmas Celebration thing, and the only thing I know how to do is write, so... I made this.
> 
> No one ever really thinks about Neville's childhood, I mean, I'm certain his grandmother tried and did her best but, in the end, knowing that your parents were sitting in a hospital ward somewhere as blank-eyed human-sized dolls was a harsh reality he had to face.  
> They would visit, I'm certain...
> 
> Maybe when he was little he didn't understand why they never spoke, or smiled, or sighed, or responded to his attempts to get their attention or approval...  
> But now he does.
> 
> Now he understands.
> 
> Neville was always a strong character, even when he was a pudgy little First Year, because he had lived this and never really spoke about it to anyone; like he didn't want to burden anyone else with it.
> 
> And then, in the end, he faced down their torturer with bravery in his heart... he deserves a little reward, just the tiniest hint of recognition... and I wanted to give him that.


End file.
